Contemplations
by Mycroft-mione
Summary: Stories written for various challenges, from 100-word drabbles to longer oneshots. Prompts are character names: so far, Dumbledore, Sprout, Flitwick, Narcissa, James I, Harry, and Neville. All chapters independent.
1. Albus Dumbledore

**Written for the Snakes and Ladders Challenge on the HPFC forum. Prompt: Dumbledore (character). So, of course, I made it crack-y. Sorry, Ashleigh... "Albus was the happiest a man could be. So what did he possibly see when he looked into the Mirror of Erised?"**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the following excerpt from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ by J.K. Rowling, J.K. herself does. Aw...**

* * *

_"Professor Dumbledore. Can I ask you something?"_

_"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."_

_"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"_

_"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks." Harry stared._

_"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."_

* * *

When Albus returned to his office that night, he immediately drew his memory of the conversation with Harry out of his mind with the tip of his wand and placed it in the Pensieve using a tiny bottle. Prodding the wispy white fibers of the memory, an image began to form in the cloudy waters of the gilded golden bowl. Albus quickly grabbed a stool from behind him and sat down in front of the cabinet in which his Pensieve was kept. Fawkes squawked from his perch behind Albus' desk.

"Keep it down over there," the wizard said to his phoenix. Fawkes ignited in response, and the scent of ashes filled the room. "Such a drama queen," he said to himself, combing his beard with his fingers. "Fawkes, I am well aware of your Burning Day schedule. There's no need to get so petulant about it ─ why, it's a natural part of life."

_Now, to the task at hand_, thought Albus. Staring down into his memory from only minutes before, he pondered Harry's query. Had he answered incorrectly? Dishonestly? It was hard to tell. The boy had given him scarcely a second to respond, and for the life of him Albus could not recall what the Mirror of Erised had shown him the last time he had looked into it. How could he tell what it would show him if he gazed into its depths today? His goals and aspirations, hopes and dreams had been fluid his entire life.

As a child, Albus wanted to be an Auror to avenge the death of his poor sister Ariana. At Hogwarts, he developed great ambition and dreamed of being the Minister of Magic ─ in turns with Gellert Grindelwald, of course. When Nicolas Flamel and him formed a partnership to create the Sorcerer's Stone, Albus contemplated the idea of immortality (he soon shot it down, though). He never wanted to be a teacher, let alone a headmaster. But in his current state, Albus was the happiest a man could be. So what did he possibly want for?

Albus considered, then revoked dozens of ideas. Time slowly oozed on, and Albus examined thousands of options.

_Did he fancy, as the young people said, Minerva McGonagall?_ Preposterous.

_Did he aspire to great fame and fortune?_ "Well," Albus remarked to himself, "you've already got that."

_Did he wish that somehow, using whatever means necessary, that he could bring back his dead father?_ Albus knew that that wasn't so. Percival had been a hateful man, what with attacking those Muggle boys, and the past should not be tampered with. No, none of his ideas were true.

Albus watched the sun rise through the arched window at one end of his office and home. It was sad that he, said to be the greatest wizard ever seen in the wizarding world, could not even say what his greatest wish was. Albus sighed and decided to dress for breakfast ─ it would likely be served in the next hour, and he liked to be ready to greet his staff promptly at 7:30.

Dressing in his traditional black robes (the ones from the day before were unfit for repeat wear), and putting his bare feet into shoes, a thought suddenly appeared in Albus's head. He laughed at himself for ignoring such an obvious idea, and looked over to where Fawkes was sleeping. He laughed again, harder this time, so that tears started falling from his eyes. Albus removed his glasses and placed them on the table so that he could wipe tears freely.

"Socks," he said. "It was the socks all along."

* * *

That afternoon, Albus discreetly visited Madam Malkin's store outpost in the village of Hogsmeade. The madam herself was curious and confused at Dumbledore's arrival.

"Headmaster," she stuttered, honored at his presence. "What brings you here?"

She rarely saw the man, due to his busy schedule and lack of a need to purchase clothes from her humble shop. But today he didn't seem as serious, nor as jovial as he was known to be. A look of madness was apparent in his eyes.

"I am in need of socks!" he announced. "Bring me everything you've got!"

And so she did.


	2. Pomona Sprout

**Written for the Snakes and Ladders Challenge on HPFC. Prompt: Pomona Sprout (character). Quite AU, it appears...**

* * *

She was born in Scandinavia. Daughter of a fisherman and a greengrocer, she grew up a child of the earth. She was one of a brood of seven, a bright young girl concealed from civilization by her own existence ─ when the Sprouts had their fifth child, they moved out into the country. She was a wild child, who roamed the countryside as she pleased, not having to go to school, or to have any cares in the world. All children think that way to start out, but Pomona never stopped being a free spirit. She was one of those children you hear about in stories and legends, but never really meet: those who, like Peter Pan, are truly free.

Independent of bedtimes and school bells, she managed to take in more of her little corner of the earth than most people ever do. People are concerned with university, and money, and jobs and the future; they rarely put such a value on being a part of the world. Pomona was one with plants, animals, even the ground itself ─ don't you know the way? Here's another thing children know that grown-ups don't ─ that lying on the ground, smelling the earth, listening to the animals, just playing in the grass ─ it brings them back to their surroundings. But I digress. That was how Pomona lived her early life: absorbing the world, little bits at a time, until she could tell you the name of practically everything outside her front door. Not the scientific names, but the real names, the ones that people have been using for hundreds of years.

So, you see, she was versed in everything the world had to offer, and more so, at the tender age of ten.

Which was highly convenient, because a few months later Pomona alone received a letter from a school of magic. No one in the family could believe it, they were sure it was some joke. They had sent no application letter, Pomona didn't go to school ─ the whole business seemed rather unlikely. But the letters kept coming. Until one day, Pomona's mother told her that she would be going to a school named Hogwarts, far away in London.

To make a long story short, Pomona went to Hogwarts. School was an entirely new experience for her ─ she couldn't wander the forest, or the grounds ─ she had to do homework in the afternoons and weekends. She had to sit still for hours on end, eat strange, fussy foods, and sleep with children she hardly knew. Pomona knew her letters, of course, but scarcely anything else, so school was plain hard for her, harder even than for the other Muggle-born children who suddenly became witches and wizards. And Pomona had no spending money of her own, so her new friends in Hufflepuff always made sure to treat her to things. Pomona didn't like being treated special ─ the animals and plants of her youth weren't discriminatory! But she got used to it. Life was different as soon as she left her home and her six jealous brothers and sisters.

After her schooling, she returned back to her home in Sweden to visit her family before finding a career and making her own life in England. But to her surprise, there had been an undocumented, unmentioned blizzard of sorts, that last far longer than a normal winter. The snap freeze devastated the village, killing the crops, driving everyone away. Her family simply left, giving up their home for lost and moving south. When Pomona returned to her childhood house, there was no sign that such a blizzard had ever existed, besides the tales of locals.

Pomona used her newfound magic to aid her, she tried every means possible to find her missing six brothers and sisters, and her parents. But they were nowhere to be found, as if they had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Of Pomona Sprout's life before Hogwarts, nothing was let but a kind of ghost town, a memory, frozen forever in time.

Maybe that's why she ended up as a teacher of Herbology: to show children the power of the earth on our world.


	3. Filius Flitwick

**A/N: Written for the "Random Character Speed Drabble Challenge" on DurmBatons Academy Interschool Competition Forum. Prompt: Filius Flitwick, exactly 100 words. Crack for sure!**

* * *

Filius Flitwick sat in a daze as simulated sunlight filled his office, grading papers. He loved his job, Charms had always had its appeal, but after a while, essays grew dull. Finally, he dozed off.

Filius felt a feather tickling his chin.

"Hello Filius," whispered Snape seductively. "Are you using the Confundus charm or are you just naturally mind blowing?"

Filius could only look on in horror as the Potions Master approached him closer. Snape grinned, twirling his raven hair.

"What do you say we... disapparate out of here?"

Filius screamed, covering his eyes.

Then, he woke up. He shuddered.


	4. Narcissa Malfoy

The letter came on the morning post. Narcissa heard the squawk of a very familiar owl, immediately recognized its tufted, pointed ears and carefully brushed feathers as it arrived in a house-elf's arms. She sat up straight in her magenta wing chair by the fire, which was being fed by itself with imported wood from Brazilian forests.

"Letter from-" squeaked the timid elf, gazing downward at his feet as soon as he arrived at the doorway.

"Yes, give it here," snapped Narcissa, grabbing the letter which swung free at the owl's feet, caught on a single golden claw.

_Mother-_

_I was grievously injured during the last Quidditch match ─ while performing a daring maneuver, Potter jolted me. Although I regained control of the broom, I was too distracted by spectacularly catching the snitch to save myself. Please send aid, the pathetic excuse for a nurse expects me to wait all night and drink Skele-Gro. She refuses to let me dine with the others, treating me like an invalid or a Mudblood._

_-Draco_

She studied the messy script and snatched it up, crumbling in into a ball.

"Those- filthy- mudbloods-" she growled. The house elf backed up surreptitiously, inch by inch, hoping to escape his master's wrath.

"How could they have let this happen to my poor Draky?!" Narcissa screamed. She hurled the paper to the floor and stomped on it. Breathing heavily, she paused, then glared at the house-elf.

"Polish the floor, you. I'm going to do something about this... travesty!"

Then she stalked out of the auditorium-sized room, her heels clacking against the tile floor.

* * *

The letter was her obsession for the following four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and fifty-five seconds.

That in itself wasn't remarkable; Narcissa rarely had anything to amuse herself with, being Lady of the Great House of Malfoy. The work was done by the house-elves, and a good thing too ─ the witch hated to get her hands dirty. Lucius handled the secretarial work, of a sort: all the correspondence between Death Eaters, those slightly below the law, and those who hadn't even heard of the law, let alone knew what it said. Again, Narcissa didn't deal with those sorts ─ dodgy, all of them. No, her efforts were dedicated when put into effect, yet rarely used. So in this continuous state of self-arranged idleness, she was aching for a bit of excitement.

If only it hadn't come at the expense of her poor son's health.

"Will it...? No... But when could ─ no, that won't do, it won't do at all."

Narcissa muttered to herself, pacing the elongated hallway in deep thought. How could she arrange to help her poor hurting boy? Was there some sort of healing potion or elixir, lost in the dull expanses of time? Was the Mudblood nurse to be trusted? Narcissa doubted it, none of the fools at St. Mungo's were of any use. They were all focused on the treatment of inhuman creatures rather than providing aid to the pure, deserving few.

"How can I ─ aha, that's it, if...!"

A thought came into her head, popped into her consciousness, as random as can be, yet utterly brilliant. Could it be done? Yes, she thought so. And, of course, anything that eased the discomfort of her poor hurting son would be worthwhile.

* * *

The letter arrived on Lucius's desk in the afternoon.

While unconcerned with his son's activities in general, Lucius was irritated by two factors: the probability of a bad reputation surrounding him, and the certainty that Narcissa would bother him relentlessly until he helped. His wife was a bit of a worrywart, constantly taking care of Draco's every need. The Dark Lord paid no attention to the minute actions of his followers, but such fawning would lead to only bad things, Lucius was sure.

But, he thought, it would not do to lose Narcissa's favor.

"I'll do it," he grumbled. "But never again."

* * *

Later that afternoon, he returned.

"That took long enough," said Narcissa coldly, staring at her husband. "I was beginning to fret."

Lucius breathed in deeply, inwardly yelling at her. He had done everything he could, made all the necessary adjustments to the books, wiped a few memories for good measure ─ no one would ever know. Yet she insisted on badgering him for arriving home a sole half-hour late. Yes, he could have utilized the Turner, taken advantage of its being in his possession, but he was uncharacteristically careful with his burden! It would have been unwise to blatantly skip through time as though it were a grassy meadow. People always noticed that sort of thing.

When he wasn't serving the Dark Lord, Lucius tended to make up for his fun, aware of the fact or not, by being staid and mature. If only his wife wasn't going berserk. His responsibility regarding the Turner had just cost him a rare thank-you from the most doting mother in all of England.

"Cissy, I couldn't have used the thing, it would show up on the registry," Lucius said calmly. "I won't bother placing even more memory charms, it never was my forte."

Narcissa glared at him. She folded her arms, daring him to deny that she was right.

"Be thankful that I took the time to get it. If I'd been on assignment, I wouldn't have been able to." _Or I wouldn't have had to_, he added silently.

"Fine," she answered, after a short pause. "But I hope you're happy next time, when Draco comes home," she told him. Lucius's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Hm?─"

"In a box!" she screamed, stomping her foot. Her eyes glowed a stormy shade of blue, somehow conveying danger and resentment. Lucius recognized her expression, and knew it was time to leave. She wasn't furious at him, more at the situation that had forced him to steal from the Ministry, choose not o use the pilfered item, and therefore be late. Again, it all came back to her predominant love of their son.

Lucius sighed and apparated away, to his study.

"Men are so inefficient," muttered Narcissa. She laughed, covering her mouth with a gloved hand ─ the transition from chalky white glove to pale skin was hardly noticeable. "But now we can get on with the proceedings!"

She glanced downwards at herself, casting a disillusionment charm upon her entire frame, which glowed and turned the color of the wall behind her ─ white.

"I'm leaving!" she yelled. If she was to travel alone, at least she could call attention to herself before exiting the manor.

Then her body turned invisible for real. That, or she disappeared completely.

Apparition was so convenient.

* * *

Narcissa appeared in the outskirts of Hogsmeade, grabbing her cloak around her and ducking into the Hog's Head pub. The door was propped open on a wooden stopper, which rested in a small divot in the soiled floor. She was glad that she couldn't see her shoes, which must have looked disgusting.

She apparated a few yards ahead of where she then stood, aiming to conceal the popping sound within the mournful clank of tankards upon the bar. Facing the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, sister of the blundering Headmaster, Narcissa cast another disillusionment upon its surface, glanced behind her, and swung it open. a loud creak was heard.

"Merlin," she swore. She knew it was no use trying to conceal her movements, so forgetting any thoughts of disguise, she leapt into the tunnel that formed behind the painting and slammed it behind her. She sprinted as fast as her feet could take her, missing the floor when it suddenly vanished from beneath her and soaring into the Room of Hidden Things, the Room of Requirement.

"Ha," she cried, pleased with herself. The dingy square room surrounding her instantly closed up the hole that had been her entrance, and Narcissa herself immediately turned visible again ─ but only for a moment, so that she could do what she did next.

"Now, I shall save my Draco!"

Winding the Time Turner that hung around her neck eight times, Narcissa saw the world morph and spin around her, dissolving into a sphere of blinding white, until she disappeared into the void of time.

Eight hours earlier, she caught Draco before he fell off his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, saving his broken leg. She proudly returned home to Lucius, with the arrogance and satisfaction of a highly accomplished woman.

"I did most of the work," he mumbled.

She pretended not to hear him, and carried on with her day, waiting for the next letter of need from her dear Draco.

* * *

Written for the **Snakes and Ladders Challenge**, Character: Narcissa Malfoy

Written for the **Game of Life Challenge**, Prompt: broken bone

Written for the **Let's Dig Holes Competition**, Prompt: applied phlebotinum - anything that causes an effect needed by a plot (for example, nanotechnology or pixie dust) (writing application).


	5. James Potter

Sirius' call from the opposite side of the room breaks past the seal of drowsiness surrounding James' brain. Unfortunately.

"Oi! Anyone still up? I'm turning off the light so I can get some quality beauty sleep." Sirius bounds over to his own four-poster, not waiting for an answer.

"You're fine, Pettigrew's asleep," notes Remus slowly, not tearing his eyes away from the book currently capturing his attention. Something from Sirius' previous sentence sticks in James' unfocused mind. He rolls over, his head pointed towards the center of the dormitory, yawning.

"Beauty sleep?" he inquires. "You plan on being a model or something, mate? Cause you don't have the looks for it, yet me tell you that."

"Ha ha," grumbles Sirius. "I look better than you any day." James raises an eyebrow.

"But for your information, I was asked out by Mary Macdonald yesterday at dinner," Sirius continues. "She was _clearly_ drawn in by my gorgeous features, which will be all wrinkle if I stay up any later! So move it, hear me?"

He starts fluffing pillows, then plops onto a bed, flicking his wand and muttering a darkening charm.

"But Pads─ _fine_," says Remus, annoyed. He turns onto his side and places a book called _203 Ways to Transfigure Household Objects_ onto his bedside table. Soon, hearing the snoring comes from Sirius' side of the room, James realizes he is the last to fall asleep.

"Guess─ can't hurt─" he whispers, yawning helplessly and closing his eyes, feeling the strain on his lids as they weigh him down, and slowly, slowly close...

* * *

_Is he going to fall asleep soon?_

Who could, they're so many **_worries_**─

fears, **stiffness** and the ache of muscles

fun had with the best of friends

friends' _pranks_, trouble from professor

but tomorrow there's a paper due, could Moony help him?

**_alone_** in the *common room*

why can't he get _**her**_

he's _flying_, _flying_ in the afternoon

but what's that come out of the dark!

startling, fear, those thoughts all depart

'til soon he tries to focus,

focus...

FOCUS!

and here they are.

* * *

He's flying, soaring, through the summer skies, the wind muddling up his raven hair. It's as if there's a Quaffle right in front of him, but he can never reach it. Why don't they just give it to him? Somehow James remembers being given the maroon sphere before, for no reason really, but he can't remember where... he swerves and whips around in a circle, whooping with joy. His eyes are momentarily blinded from the noonday sun.

Only, suddenly he starts to fall, his hands slipping off the broomstick handle as he enters a tailspin─ he'll die, he's going to die─ and then suddenly all is quiet. He's standing on the ground, broomstick in hand, and a girl with wavy red hair is watching him.

She tells him that he's a good flyer, and how did he learn to turn like that? Immodest, he says he was drafted as a chaser in second year, did she like it?

They're talking for awhile, about flying and all sorts of things, until finally he asks her, will she go out with him?

He's unsure, regretting what he said. She wouldn't like him, she's made it quite plain over the last four years that she doesn't. Yet, here if not anywhere else, she does seem to have an interest in him. His mind is flipping back and forth between ideas, tired all of a sudden, and the world seems to bend away as he leans in towards her for a kiss (Lily, beautiful Lily), but everything spirals out of control, and his last coherent thought screams, NO! WAIT!

The Quidditch pitch doesn't feature again in his dreams, but there's a constant feeling of loss, uncertainty.

He knows something he wanted is gone, what was it?

Where is it?

* * *

"James?" Remus practically yells in his ear. "Wake up!"

"Wha?" he answers drowsily. Sunlight filters into his eyes from the window opposite him, even through his closed lids; he can distinctly feel its warmth. Slowly he begins to wake up, and his heart pounds upon seeing Remus' face mere inches from his own.

"Moony! Personal space!"

"Prongs, everyone's down at breakfast! Sirius was all for leaving you, but I decided to be generous."

James yawns, rolling his eyes, as he leaps out of bed and searches in his messy trunk for clean robes. Muttering '_Scourify_,' he removes a suspicious-looking green stain from one hem and tugs them on.

"Thanks. I didn't miss anything, did I?" he asks, combing his hair blindly as Remus stands there, completely presentable, watching his antics.

"Well," begins his friend mischievously, "I heard Evans asked where you were..."

"Really?" gasps James. "I... I have to go now! Bye! And thanks!" he adds, running out of the room and through the common room, out of Gryffindor Tower, and into the Great Hall.

"Oh, James," says Remus to himself. "Good luck with that."

Chuckling, he picks up James' wand, tucking it into his robes, and leisurely heads for the Great Hall to meet Sirius and Peter.

* * *

Written for:

**Astronomy, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**, Task: write a story involving dreams.

**Snakes and Ladders Challenge**, Character: James Potter

**Build-a-Bear Challenge,** Prompt: To give your Build-A-Bear an air bath for extra cuddliness, write a fanfic about _flying._


	6. Harry Potter (and Luna)

Harry heard a knock at the door. Clutching a mug of coffee and tying his dressing gown tightly, he undid the lock and opened it, squinting at the lingering autumn sunlight.

"Hello. I've got a packag─ I'm your new mail carrier." The woman standing there smiled sheepishly, turning her head to one side to look at him, her golden hair falling over her shoulder. "I'm Luna," she added.

Each day, Luna personally came to Harry's house, always to deliver mail, but sometimes for the sole purpose of conversation. He would invite her in, they would sip green tea (Luna disliked coffee), and then she would depart to complete her route. This continued for months, as the pair grew to know each other.

On Boxing Day, Harry left a note in his mailbox, sticking up the cheerful red flag in hopes that Luna would come. Minutes later, she arrived in the truck, parking across the street as usual. For once, Harry wasn't there to greet her, but Luna noticed the red flag and found the card he'd left for her with such care.

_Happy Christmas, Luna. Love, Harry._

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said in reply.


	7. Neville Longbottom

"Hello, I'm N-Neville, Neville Longbottom, and I'll be your Herbology Professor," said Neville, his voice shaky. He was greeting his first year students in Greenhouse One, seeing all the little faces that were staring at him. One boy reached for the prized _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ and immediately jerked his hand away, dodging a dark green jet of Stinksap. Neville concealed a smile; the boy reminded him of himself, a blundering fool. _But I'm going to do great today_, he told himself. _Like a real professor on their first day on the job. No sweat, no worries_.

The lesson continued acceptably, and finally the students left the greenhouses, smears of soil decorating their robes and weary conversations taking place. Neville watched from the Greenhouse doorway, sighing at himself. Professor Sprout never would have forgotten the distinction between _Anjelica_ herbs and _Arnica_ sunflowers in front of thirty students, and be corrected by a precocious first year with bushy hair like Hermione's. Professor Sprout never would have stuttered when saying her own name.

Immediately after his lesson was lunch, and Neville was relieved. Living on his own in the world had made him dearly miss the great food Hogwarts had to offer. He couldn't wait to plop himself down at the Gryffindor table and sink his teeth into...

_ Oh_. Neville shook himself out of his fantasy. He wasn't a student anymore, and he would have to sit at the staff table like the other professors. It was a rude awakening, like most of his morning so far. Why did everything have to change as soon as he came back to his old school?

Gazing longingly one last time at the loud, brash house tables, Neville faced the teachers' table that spanned the front wall of the Great Hall. Multiple seats were empty, making it impossible for him to know where his own place was. A few familiar faces stood out to him, such as Headmistress McGonagall's and Binn's slivery ghost figure, but no one pointed to a chair, most were wrapped up in talking to each other. Neville caught the eye of a young brunette who smiled, before glancing away to continue her discussion.

Helplessly, Neville stood there for a moment, absorbing the sight of the hall and thinking about his predicament. Suddenly, a much older and greyer Hagrid bounded inside and grinned at him.

"Good to see ya, Neville, s'been far too long," he said shaking his hand forcefully and showing him to a chair. "All righ' wi' the family, Neville?" he boomed, taking his own seat beside him. And more confidently now, they chatted until lunch was over.

Although Neville idolized Professor Sprout, he wasn't her. He was a different person, who she had believed would do great things, who didn't have to be like everyone else to achieve his dream of teaching Herbology. He could be Neville Longbottom, who he knew at least _some_ people loved and were proud to know.

* * *

Written for:

**Fanfiction Tournaments Competition**, Topic: Hogwarts professors

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- Arithmancy**, Task: I would like you to write about somebody's day (or more) at work.


End file.
